Winners and Heroes
by broadwaybaby529
Summary: Quidditch for dragons, Charlie Weasley always loved a thrill.


**Rating: **T – for Themes

**Pairing: **Oliver Wood/Charlie Weasley

**Author's Note: **This is a side story from a very long one shot I'm working on, which I'll upload soon. The other story doesn't have a title yet, but I'll mention this one in it, so if you want to link you can. If you can drop a review but I won't beg. I'm also not a huge fan of the title, so if you have a suggestion let me know! Anyways, enjoy!

**Winners and Heroes **

Charlie almost joined the thousands of fans leaving the stadium but something stopped him. He watched the crowds dissipate, excited Puddlemere fans recounting the intense last few moments of a dramatic match, while the Chudley Cannons fans, he was sure his youngest brother Ron was among them, mumbled to themselves about how they might win the championship _next year._

The door to the broom shed stood open beside the entrance to the Puddlemere locker rooms and Charlie Weasley, in true Weasley fashion, couldn't help what he did next.

Looking around he checked to make sure none of the officials were looking his way. It wouldn't have mattered much, his father was the newly appointed Minister of Magic, and the Weasley hair was unmistakable. But still, part of the thrill was that he wasn't supposed to out there any longer and Charlie Weasley loved thrill.

He padded his way down to the broom shed and slid his hand to the closest handle, gripping it strongly. From where he stood the stadium looked huge, but when he flew.

Charlie closed his eyes for a second, thinking about the other path his life could have taken. His parents hadn't told him off, hadn't lectured him. Molly had wailed about how a life of Quidditch was at least safer than _wrestling dragons_ but Arthur had taken him aside and told him to do what was going to make him happy, that they would support him no matter what he chose.

Charlie grabbed the broom and walked out onto the pitch, didn't speak, didn't think, simply mounted the broom and began to feel the world around himself fade, began to get that creeping relaxation, that old familiar comfort.

The morning after his father had spoken to him Charlie had sent his gracious rejection to the Puddlemere United Quidditch Team, thanking them for their interest, but explaining that he had chosen a different road. His father was proud, but Charlie had a sneaking suspicion that a lot of his friends, and his brothers, were very, very mad at him.

But he loved his life in Romania. He had his closest team there, and the thrill of running after the beasts he had so come to know truly excited him. It was just – he paused, looked at the stadium, which now looked so small, took a deep breath and shot off like a rocket. These new Mercury Crossovers sure could fly, he found himself thinking, he had never remembered his old broom being this good. It was just – the whirl of the night air, hot on his neck, sliding down his back the excitement of being in the home stadium of the championship winning team, all gripped onto him in a frenzy. It was just – it was just that sometimes he _missed_ it. The way a person misses a lover Charlie found himself yearning for the flight that he had forsaken. He needed to fly, like most men needed to breathe, to love, to live, Charlie Weasley was addicted to the sky.

He felt something whiz past his left ear and it was instinct more than anything else that forced him to follow it. Pure muscle memory drove him to follow the flitting little ball, as if every other thought was pushed from his mind in a mad desire to achieve some kind of seemingly unattainable goal. He urged himself on faster, the small glistening ball just before him, flitting away lazily, as if teasing him for not being able to catch it.

And then something much large passed by him, the bulk of a person, on a broom very similar to the one Charlie was riding, they sped off in fast pursuit after the flitting ball.

Charlie kicked into high gear, spurred on by the idea of illegally practicing on the Quidditch pitch of the team that had _just won the championship _and feeling the burn of flight in his muscles as though it hadn't been years since he had last flown, really flown. He chases down the man who chased down the ball and only when the rain had started pelting down Charlie's face did he realize that he was racing a Puddlemere player for the golden snitch. He was only thankful it wasn't his little sister's husband, it was said Harry Potter was the best Seeker since his father's days, and Charlie had little doubt in his mind that that was true.

But right now all that was in his mind was catching up to that man and catching that snitch, as if he needed, desperately, to prove that he was still good, that he still had it in him, that they hadn't made a mistake in recruiting him all those years ago. The rain grew heavier, and with it Charlie's determination. All thoughts were pushed from his mind as he caught up to the man in the blue and white uniform, tried to catch a glimpse of his face but to little avail. Instead he watch the ball, watched it run from them.

And then the two men were neck in neck in hot pursuit. He was sure he could feel the heat coming off the other man's body, sure he could hear him pant as the physical exertion of the ride, and he was sure the earlier game, forced him to push his body to new heights. And then it was right in front of him, the small, golden Snitch, more beautiful now than it had ever been in Hogwarts, and Charlie had been the last captain to win a game for Gryffindor until Harry bloody Potter had gotten to the school. He could make it out so clearly in the pouring rain that he had to wonder if it was letting up and then he could feel it, and oh dear Merlin he had missed the feeling, the sweet curl of victory as his fingers clenched around the tiny little ball. He felt as though he was cresting a wave of complete and total freedom, and the world disappeared around him, no sounds, no lights, no sixty foot drop, just him and the little ball that fluttered, content, in his hand.

"Charlie Weasley, I was hoping you'd have lost your touch." Charlie heard a familiar voice and turned to see the other man, the one who'd he had nearly tackled in an insane drive to catch the Snitch.

"Oliver bloody Wood," he heard himself say in response. The man, toting the brilliant blue and white robes of a recently successful champion team, Oliver Wood was certainly no longer the little boy whom Charlie had once coached for endless hours in his old school days at Hogwarts. Though there had been sporadic meetings, and the occasional correspondence, Charlie hadn't seen Oliver in years. Yet the connection of their friendship, and the unbreakable bond they shared in their love for the sport, reunited them with intensity. Charlie almost fell off his broom, looking at the man Oliver Wood had become.

He soared over to him, slipping the Snitch into his front pocket and never letting up a smile.

"How about a hug for your old Captain, eh?" He asked, and the two embraced, despite their height and brooms, for a long moment. Charlie couldn't help but realizing just how much of an effect those rigorous training sessions had had on the burly Keeper. It had been a long time since he had been with someone, and he was sure his body was acting of its own accord.

"And may I say," Charlie began again, "Congratulations on a spectacular win." Oliver smiled shook his head, though the grin never faded.

"It was a team effort, I assure you," he replied. "I must admit, I wasn't expecting to see you here. It was only when I heard some of the officials saying they had a rouge redhead on the pitch that I felt," he paused, "Inclined to investigate."

"And what if you'd gotten the wrong one?" Charlie asked, lazily flying around in circles, "What if it'd been Bill, or Fred or George, what about Ron, he was the Captain of the Quidditch Team, you know? And Ginny, badass with a broom, what if?" He paused, "You got the wrong family all together?"

Oliver smirked and chased the lazy Mercury Crossover in his own slow pattern.

"You're not the only Weasley I'm friends with, you know," he replied, "Fred and George were on my team for a good long time. And I helped train Ron, myself. Ginny and I toured together when the Harpies were playing along side Puddlemere, and Bill taught me Charms when I was a second year. I think you're one of my least favorite Weasleys," he said with a smile that clearly indicated otherwise. "In fact, I was friends with Percy first."

"From what I've heard that's not the only thing you did with Percy first," Charlie replied, raising his eyebrow in response.

"Jealous, Weasley?" Oliver asked him, and flew a little closer.

"Maybe I am, Wood," Charlie replied, because who was he to deny that Oliver Wood was ten years older in all the right ways, because who was he to judge attraction based on the minute details of sexuality, and because who was he to turn down a little flirtatious behavior. Charlie Weasley loved a thrill.

"Oliver," Charlie asked, as the commanded the broom, the Mercury practically reading his thoughts. He would never admit how much he missed flying.

"Yeah Charlie," Oliver replied, watching the elder with an intense gaze.

"Why'd you come looking for me?" Charlie was up higher now, as if playing the role of Icaras he seemed to be reaching for the sun. Only it was raining quite steadily now, and Oliver knew that if anything he was going to be the one to get burned.

It took him a moment to answer.

"I needed to see if you'd changed," he answered honestly. "You were my hero in school. I worshipped you to the bone," he paused and looked up at Charlie whose blue eyes were glistening in the rain.

"And then when you ran off to play with your oversized lizards I felt as though you'd betrayed this love we shared." Charlie looked away at this point and Oliver knew he'd hit a sensitive spot. Still, he continued.

"All those parties we were at together, all the clubs and bars, I never got to ask you, I never got to know." Charlie nodded, urging him on.

"How it felt to give it all up, why you did, how you could? I needed to know if you still loved it. I need to know that I'll still love it."

Charlie flew down to Oliver's level. Oliver Wood, Champion Keeper, world famous athlete, heart throb and desire of teenage witches everywhere, and still revered Charlie as though his word were written in _Hogwarts a History_. Charlie wasn't even sure where to begin.

"It's my heart," he replied, "It's my everything. I lived and breathed and ate Quidditch for my entire childhood. When it came time to grow up I thought I needed to leave behind everything." Oliver looked at him, as if to say _so taming dragons is growing up_ but Charlie just shrugged.

"I love what I do, Oliver," he said after a moment. "Those dragons are my family and the tamers are my team. But the moments come, dear Merlin do the moments come, when I sit down and ask myself if I made the right choice. I wonder, and it hurts to wonder, if I did the right thing, not signing on the team."

"And?" Oliver asked him, and though lightening struck around them they made little motion to leave the sky.

"I think I did," Charlie admitted. "The thing with Quidditch is that I couldn't have played pro. I loved it, but I didn't want to win. Winning wasn't a thing. For me it was the rush, the surge, the freedom. And I knew if I played for one of the biggest teams around that the pressure would destroy me. I needed to save it, so I put it on a shelf and stopped playing all together." He looked at the younger man.

"Does that make you feel better?" He asked Oliver, "Knowing how much I still love it?"

"Seeing you fly after that Snitch made me feel better," Oliver replied, "Charlie Weasley you are an enigma, but when you like something, you really bloody like it."

"Says the man with the middle name Quaffle and his first born Snitch," Charlie replied. "You may be the one person to pass through Hogwarts after I did that actually loved this sport more."

"It's thanks to you," Oliver replied. They were close now, the rain pouring down around them, Charlie's hair flattened down to his face.

"Your passion comes from within," Charlie said. "I never doubted your love for this sport, Oliver, and neither should you. We just had different ways of showing it. And when I see you flying out there, man, it's art, the way you move. Should have known from the second you stepped on the field that'd you be the best."

The two men rode very close now, the weather beating at their brooms, the wind blowing at their bodies. And then, as though the passion of the storm, the passion of the day and the very intensity of their conversation spurred it on they met in an embrace of lips and tongues and heat, desperately escaping their bodies, clashing teeth and desperate moans and the world around them seemed to spin out of control. Charlie almost lost his balance before the two of them came up for air.

"Should we?" Oliver indicated to the ground.

"Probably," Charlie replied, "I'd rather not explain that one to my folks, nasty spill on the Quidditch pitch snogging Oliver Wood," he let out a laugh, "The twins would never let me hear the end of it, they'd probably be jealous."

"Is this," Oliver paused, "I didn't mean for this to happen when I came out here."

"I know, Olly," Charlie said with a smile. "I know,"

"So we're good?" The keeper asked, slightly nervously, as though he were talking to the Quidditch hero, and not the main Keeper for the Championship winning team himself.

"We'd be better if we could get out of these wet clothes, and maybe have a drink."

"I've got a bottle of firewhiskey back at my flat," Oliver said, shutting the brooms back up in the shed. "That is, if you don't have to go back to wrestling dragons in the morning." Charlie wondered when they had both become so forward. He supposed it was a different role, the gentleman, when neither of them were gentle and both were men.

"Sounds about perfect to me," Charlie replied. "I'll be in town for a while, fixing up permits for the reserve."

"So how about taking care of that jealousy, then?" Wood asked, and Charlie smiled.

"Only if all your doubts have already been taken care of."

Oliver turned to face him. The two stood roughly the same heigh, but Oliver slid his arms around Charlie's neck.

"100% doubt free," he replied, he stroked Charlie's hair. "You're my Quidditch hero, you know that?" He asked with a laugh.

Charlie smiled, then caught his lips,

"And yet you're the one standing here with a championship under your belt."

"I wouldn't mind there being something else under my belt," Oliver mumbled. Charlie smiled.

"Better play catch up then, weren't you and Percy roommates all through Hogwarts."

"Just the two of us."

As they wandered off and apparated to Oliver's flat Charlie could only smile. He could see Oliver Wood being the start of a wonderful adventure. And Charlie Weasley loved a thrill.


End file.
